The Hittite - Ben Bova [53]
“I would stay longer if I could,” Paris said to her, “just to gaze into your blue eyes.”
Helen’s cheeks burned red and she had to look away from him. Paris went on, “But my ship is ready and your husband’s tribute has been counted and loaded onto the wagons. Besides,” he glanced back over his shoulder, “his kinsman would not be pleased if I remained here to woo you.”
Speechless, Helen merely stood there quaking like a helpless girl facing a lion— a lion she wanted to embrace, even if he would rend her limb from limb.
Then Paris said, “The nobles feast me to night in the great hall. Afterward I take leave of Sparta and ride to my swift ship at sunrise tomorrow.”
Helen stood tongue-tied until I whispered in her ear. She repeated my words aloud.
“I will join you at the feast, then,” she said, looking surprised to hear her own voice saying it.
His radiant smile returned. “Then at least I will have one last memory of the most beautiful woman in the world to carry back to Troy with me.”
And I could tell the thoughts whirling through Helen’s mind: would that he could have more than a memory to bring back to Troy with him!
As if he could read Helen’s mind, Paris said in a half-whisper, “If I were not a prince, with the responsibilities my father has laid on my shoulders, I would steal you away from Sparta.”
With that, he turned and strode away, back to his men, leaving Helen standing there half-fainting.
4
Despite the warnings of the noble Spartan ladies, Helen summoned the royal chamberlain and told him she would attend the eve ning’s feast in her husband’s place. He looked stunned, and left Helen’s chambers as fast as his legs could carry him. Within minutes Menalaos’ three closest cousins were scratching at her door. When I admitted them, they told Helen flatly that women were not allowed at the men’s feasting unless the king himself permitted it.
“I am not a mere woman,” she said, as haughtily as she could. “I am the queen and you will do as I command. Only my husband can gainsay me.”
Good, my nursling, I cheered silently. But I knew that inwardly Helen was trembling like a leaf in a windstorm. She looked past the bearded, sour-faced men, to me, who stood behind them. I smiled encouragement to her. The noblemen grumbled and argued for a while but Helen stood firm. At last they bowed to her demand, grudgingly. As soon as the door closed behind them, she bade me summon all her servants. She was going to see Paris again! She wanted to look her absolute best for him.
All that day we prepared. It was high summer, yet even though the sun was bright, a cold wind swept down from the mountains like a chilling omen. I paid it no heed as Helen selected her best gown of pure white linen and a gold corselet that cinched her waist, modest yet flattering. Three serving women spent the whole afternoon oiling and curling her hair and then pinning it up demurely.
“You don’t want to look too alluring for the visitor,” one of the maids said, giggling.
Another added, “Especially with your husband away.”
They laughed like carefree girls, thinking forbidden thoughts of romance and seduction. Little did any of us realize what was to befall us.
“I hear the Trojan prince is as handsome as Apollo,” the third maid said.
“And how would you know that?” I demanded, growing irritated at their simpering.
“Oh, the word has spread throughout the palace, Apet. They say that in bed he makes love like Zeus!”
“And he’s as big as Herakles.”
“Be silent!” I commanded, fearful that they would see how Helen’s face was flushed with desire.
Menalaos’ palace was a sorry place to host a prince of Troy. Rough gray stone walls and dirt floors. For decoration there was little more than shields and spears adorning the rooms. Even Helen’s own chamber had only one small mirror, which she herself had brought in her dowry. Troy was a magnificent city, we had both heard: rich and cultured.
“It is not as glorious as the cities of the Nile, such as Memphis or Thebes,” I told her, “but it is as far above Sparta as